


Cohabitation (And Other Disastrous Ideas)

by BullySquadess



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, PLUS VIDEO GAMES, Roommates, and they're probably definitely going to fuck this time i promise, back at it again with NOT WORKING ON TLATB, bed sharing, damn bully, its a, listen, literally ever trope im garbage for, oh shit i should do some real tags now, okay but listen, plus other non-sexual roommate stuffs, post-reveal, roommate au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:11:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8666965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BullySquadess/pseuds/BullySquadess
Summary: These two best friends decide to move in together, what happens next will shock you!(Or not, considering all roommate fics end up the same anyhow.)





	1. Adrien Asks a Question

**Author's Note:**

> Me: "Oh man, maybe I should focus on finishing my other in-progress fics before I-"  
> The gremlin that pilots my brain and hands: *smacks me across the face* "ROOMMATE AU"
> 
> Yep so here is this thing. I'm not exactly sure of long it'll be and have no projected plot. Chapters will be on the shorter side (at least, nothing like the 8k monstrosities in some of my other fics) and will be mostly un-beta'd, so if you spot a mistake just take a deep breath and know it's not the end of the world.
> 
> They're twenty btw.

Adrien’s proposal came on a rainy day.

Which, when Marinette really thought about it, wasn’t all that miraculous considering most Parisian days were rainy ones. The _real_ challenge would have been finding a sunny afternoon, as those were practically a myth.

Never-the-less, the romantic in her liked to think he’d explicitly planned for them to be beneath an umbrella when he finally popped the question. A little callback to the moment she’d first fallen for him those five or so years back.

God, they’d known each other for _five years._ And what a five years it had been.

In those five years, the world had unraveled and re-stitched itself anew for one Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She’d become a hero- hell, _an icon_ – and then eventually had grown into a young woman. She’d faced triumphs and loses alike, had cried and sang and laughed (sometimes all at once). She’d met the person she now held most dear to her not once but _three times,_ and each meeting had its own special place in her heart.

Her first encounter with Chat Noir had been rough to say the least. Her first encounter with Adrien Agreste had managed to be somehow more so. Yet despite their poor track record with introductions, the moment Marinette had first witnessed her beloved kitten become none other than her _also beloved_ long-time crush had been nothing short of _euphoric._

The reveal had been her idea.

After a particularly brutal akuma fight sometime around the age of seventeen, Marinette had decided once and for all she was done with this whole secret identity business- as least in regards to her partner. She hated the idea one of them could potentially step in some miraculous-related trouble and (thanks to her cowardice) the other would be powerless to help. Her secrecy had passed the line between cautious and irresponsible, and she’d grown tired of hiding.

So it was by mutual agreement the two heroes had let slip their guises. No convoluted situations. No accidental slip-ups. Just an invitation.

“Stay for a while?” Ladybug had asked one day over their usual victory fist bump, earrings beeping and determination nestled in her abdomen. “We could watch the sunset.”

 “Are you sure?” had been Chat’s reply, tentative but with an unmistakable edge of excitement. He’d known as well as she had that his staying would entail much more than a remarkable view of the evening horizon, but her nod in reply had been anything but conflicted.

So the heroes had sat, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee, legs dangling over the side of their selected rooftop till their beeping was instead replaced by a brilliant flash of light.

Green.

She’d shrieked.

Pink.

He’d _whooped._

And after allowing the immediate shock to settle (it wasn’t every day you realize the same person you regularly jumped across rooftops wearing ridiculous spandex costume with also sat by you in homeroom), Adrien had scooped his not-so-Lady up, twirling her in utter glee and declaring himself the luckiest man in Paris.

From there, the pair had only become that much more inseparable.

It was almost _eerie_ how fast they’d reconciled their new knowledge of the other’s identity, falling into a friendship so close-knit you’d assumed they been raised together. Within a month Marinette had unlocked the entirety of Adrien’s tragic back story, bargained his father down from six lessons a week to a measly three, noticed which treats the calorie-starved model liked most from the bakery before devising a schedule of which to bring him for lunch each day, and had even convinced her often bull-headed partner to get that mole on his foot checked out by a podiatrist because “I’m serious Adrien, that’s not normal!”

Adrien, for his part, had discovered Marinette’s skylight didn’t lock.

He’d also discovered the best times to drop in on her were 9- 12 on weekends (after her usual wakeup but before her shift downstairs) and 7:45- 11 every night (after dinner but before bedtime). He’d discovered she didn’t mind his presence so long as he either made himself useful or kept out of the way, and had learned the best ways to earn himself an invitation back.

Back rubs? Calculus tutoring? Serving as her personal living sewing mannequin?

All major brownie point awarders.

Singing off-key show tunes during study time? Conspiring with Mrs. Dupain-Cheng to track down every embarrassing childhood photo of her daughter in the house so he could transfer them to a flash drive? Breaking (Allegedly! She had no proof!) half the pots Marinette had perched up on her rooftop?

Those where the types of acts that got him banished- if not forever like she _swore_ but at least for a couple days. Basically just until Marinette inevitably started missing him again and had no choice but to accept his always over-the-top apologies.

They became _that_ type of inseparable.

“Calls at two am because you’re giddy and can’t sleep” inseparable. “I’m being forced to go to Milan for a week please, _please_ tell me you can come with” inseparable. “Sharing blankets and food and umbrellas on rainy days” inseparable.

Adrien’s proposal came on a rainy day.

And though Marinette had long been picking up signals he might soon spring that all-important question (a soft glimmer in those viridian eyes, the knowing glances cast upon her from friends and family members alike), she still nearly dropped to the cobble stone below when at last it happened.

“So I’ve been thinking…” the very love of her life began, the light of the city they protected together glinting off his golden hair in an almost blinding halo. Adrien fidgeted, then laughed nervously, and it was only when Marinette slid her fingers between his own, nodding with a cheek-splitting grin, that the young man gathered the courage to say…

“Do you wanna be my roommate?”


	2. Gabriel Is Hawkmoth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is mega un-beta'd lol so theres probably issues, but I really just wanted to establish some world-building???

She’d said yes.

Marinette had actually said _yes!_

Still tap-dancing on cloud nine, Adrien couldn’t help the dopey smile he wore as he watched his (best friend seemed a lack-luster term for what they were but he’d yet to find a better descriptor) disappear with a wave. She turned as soon as she made it past the doors of the bakery, motioning through the glass that he should text her later, and Adrien almost laughed at the notion she still felt the need to remind him.

Not a day had gone by since he’d gotten her phone number that the two hadn’t conversed, that wasn’t about to change.

He nodded, and with one last grin Marinette pivoted on her heel, heading towards the stairs that led to her bedroom. _‘Though, not for long,’_ Adrien thought, practically skipping as he made his way to the house with the bedroom that would soon no longer be his either.

The model resisted the urge to heel-click, but it was a close call.

Moving out had been a fantasy of his since the day Chat Noir had given him his first unbridled taste of freedom. Walking the streets unhindered by an entourage, introducing himself to people with a name not burdened with a reputation- Adrien’s miraculous had sparked in him simple, worldly desire for a measure of control in his own life. One he’d been slowly feeding until the day of his inevitable twentieth birthday.

His release date, as it were.

The terms of Adrien’s trust fund were explicit, concise, and non-negotiable; Crafted by the finest lawyers money could buy to insure the heir to the Agreste empire would not squander his birthright. If, by the time he turned twenty, Adrien had remained a contributing asset to the company (read: had stayed caged up in his childhood home, only to be seen when photoshoots/fashion shows/press appearances required his participation) then he was set to inherit a considerable sum: A trust comprised partly of his wages earned through his already prosperous modelling career but mostly from the _bursting_ Gabriel© coffers.

He’d still more-or-less have to be at his father’s beck and call, of course. The money (and make no mistake, it was _a lot_ of money) would be dispensed only in monthly increments, easily revoked should he try and slip his ever-loosening leash, but thankfully the terms of his near-indenture were far more lax. He’d still be required to attend certain functions -galas and openings and what-not- but at least he now had the freedom to decide which modeling contracts he would take. Both with Gabriel or otherwise. And sure, as a shareholder (a high-ranking one at that), it was now his duty to take a vested interest in the condition of the company, but Adrien would gladly face a million board meetings. So long as those meetings concluded with a cordial handshake from his father, the two men retiring to their own, _separate_ abodes, he’d be happy.

He didn’t hate Gabriel, he really didn’t. Adrien knew his father tried to do right by him, even if it was in his own backwards, roundabout, frigid type of way.

His own “I set loose rampant villains around Paris on a thrice-a-week basis because I don’t know how to cope with my feelings” type of way.

Needless to say, discovering his father’s identity as Hawkmoth had been… a time.

There’d been anger of course, feelings of betrayal and even hatred for the man that was supposed to love him. There’d been resentment _(“How dare he endanger Paris?” “How dare he endanger my Lady??”)_ , confrontations ( _“Why are you doing this?” “Do you know how much destruction you’ve caused?”),_ even a near eruption ( _“She’s not coming back! She’s never coming back! And there’s nothing you can do to change that!”),_ but in the end, Adrien had come to see his father for who he really was.

Who he’d become.

Though he’d deny it if accused, Gabriel Agreste was a man in mourning. Blinded to the repercussions of his actions and unwilling to give them up, he certainly wasn’t expressing his sorrow in a healthy way.

But, at the same time, he was not wholly evil. He did not cause carnage for the sake of entertainment, or get any sort of pleasure from the destruction he wrought. He wasn’t seeking power or money, both of which he already had in droves. He was grieving, plain and simple. He was grasping to his last remaining tie to his lost love, doing the only thing he knew to do in the hopes she’d come back.

And even though Adrien had long since learned how to let go and cherish the memory of his mother, he didn’t fault his father for not having the strength. He was flawed, sure, but he was family, and Adrien wasn’t about to let something as trivial as mere super-villainy take away his last remaining parent. So he opted to live with it, as best he could.

That said, Gabriel was still a major dick.

Upon learning the miraculous could only be given of the user’s free will, the man had (and this was the only way to describe it) thrown a tantrum. An honest to god, foot stomping, arm crossing tantrum. He’d demanded, flat out, that Adrien hand over the ring, and then had turned the same shade of red as his pants when his son had instead given him the finger beside it.

From there Gabriel had switched to bartering, promising Adrien whatever he desired in exchange for his miraculous. He’d offered gifts, breaks from extracurriculars, and had even in his desperation agreed to grant him the utmost of freedom. Full legal emancipation, his inheritance in full, and immediate release from all his current modeling contracts. All for a “tacky bit of metal.”

Surprise: It hadn’t worked.

Next, Gabriel had set his sights on Ladybug. Thinking she might be easier to swindle, he’d shown up at the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery with no less than a dozen gift baskets- actual gift baskets! –asking in his least-frigid tone of voice if she’d consider a trade.

Surprise: That hadn’t worked either.

Marinette (who at that point had been well aware of Gabriel’s identity but was waiting on Adrien’s decision over what to do about the fact) had burst out laughing, sobering somewhat when the man’s face fell and then politely explaining to him that she was far too attached to her kwami to considering giving over her miraculous. After checking to see if she was _sure_ (“Yes, I’m positive Mr. Agreste.”) and receiving a somewhat awkward (yet oddly consoling) pat on the back, Gabriel had left the bakery empty handed.

Well, _almost_ empty handed.

Marinette didn’t like leaving people disappointed, even if they _were_ technically her arch nemesis. Plus he’d just looked so sad, standing there like the last candy cane on the Christmas tree. It was hard for her to picture him as the man she was supposed to hate, so she had done what came naturally to her and had taken the moral high ground.

Gabriel had raised a brow as she’d passed him the peach tart, probably thinking it to be poisoned, but had accepted the offering anyhow. He’d eyed the butterfly motif swirled across the icing with something akin to humor, before stiffly thanking the girl who’d been thwarting his plans since the tender age of fifteen and retreating to his limo.

“Don’t you ever go after her again,” Adrien had snarled, planting himself before his father the moment he’d stepped foot back in the mansion. “I don’t know what you just tried to do or say to Marinette, but… are those crumbs on your tie?”

Disinterested, Gabriel had merely looked down, swiped the offending morsels off his clothing, then proceeded to his office. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes, and feel free to eat at your leisure.”

He’d turned in the doorway, casting his son one last inscrutable look.

“Something tells me you and Ms. Dupain-Cheng will be having a quiet evening.”

From that point on, there existed a sort of fragile peace between the three miraculous holders. Adrien and his father were passably civil to each other, they didn’t throw punches around the house at least, while Gabriel and Marinette came to develop what could almost be called an acquaintanceship- one built on a mutual love of fashion, Adrien, and fruit tarts.  Hawkmoth still sent out akuma, Ladybug and Chat Noir still beat them, and Paris kept chugging along as it always had.

Still, that delicate truce hadn’t stopped Adrien from counting down the weeks days hours _minutes_ until he could get the hell out of Dodge.

(Dodge being the sprawling, luxurious, _utterly devoid of warmth_ house that’d served as Adrien’s holding cell for as long as he could remember.)

In all honesty, the Agreste Mansion had never truly felt like home to him. At least, it hadn’t for a long time. Adrien was sure there must have been a time in his youth when he’d felt at peace there, maybe when the windows had been thrown open and the house had been filled with music and laughter and the distinctive scent of women’s perfume... but that time was long-forgotten.

His house (his father’s house, really) felt more like a place of employment. Somewhere he could clock in each day for another shift of “being the ideal son/coverboy/face of a brand”. His room- filled as it was now with trinkets, keepsakes, and pictures of friends collected over his years of public schooling -offered a reprieve from the frigid atmosphere of the house proper, but it was a small, temporary comfort.

No, Adrien’s real home, the place he’d always felt completely at ease, was by _her_ side. Wherever they happened to be together.

Sprinting with his Lady down a narrow sidestreet?

Bam! He was home.

Watching Marinette compare two (identical to his eyes) bolts of silk at the fabric market?

Yep, forward all mail there please.

Adrien’s home had been their school and her bedroom and nearly every café, video game store, or boutique in all of Paris. It’d been every rooftop on their patrol route, every otherwise bland dressing room she’d brightened with her appearance, and every sidewalk slab between his residence and hers.

She, _Marinette_ , is what made any space feel like home.

And now, he was going to have that always.

That earlier urge to heel click proved un-quellable this time around, and Adrien- still giggling like a maniac- nearly busted his ass on the slick pavement as he indulged.


	3. Adrien And Marinette Are Practically Married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i seriously wasnt joking when i said these chapters are going to be short. this one doesnt even hit 1k

 “We need to be smart about this.”

“Well shit, being smart is what we’re _worst_ at.”

“I knooooow,” Marinette moaned, plopping her head down into her hands so her palms dug into her eye sockets.  Adrien blindly reached around his laptop to pat the leg she had tucked beside his own, scrolling down the page of apartment listings on his screen with one hand while the other skated up and down the freshly-shaven skin of her shin.

The duo had set up shop on the lounge chair situated on the main floor of her bedroom, both of them equipped with computers, determination, and enough hot cocoa to fuel a small infantry. Hour three of their online house-hunting binge had yielded little results thus far, not adding much to their already meager list of possible homes, and it was obvious the lack of productivity was started getting to them both.

“We fight supervillains on a weekly basis, why is this so _difficult?_ ” Marinette muttered against the lip of her mug.

“We _could_ try fighting a landlord,” Adrien offered. “Would that make you feel better?”

“No. Or maybe… yes? I don’t know okay? All I know is that this situation is stressful, and I _do not_ handle stress well.”

“Yeah, it makes you break out on your chin.”

Adrien blinked as his vision was suddenly obstructed by _foot_ , Marinette’s pink-painted toes pointing accusingly at the tip of his nose.

“You watch yourself boy,” she warned, “I’m one bad pun away from _losing it_ right now.”

Knowing he was toeing (Get it? _Toe_ -ing? Oh God he would have said that one out loud if he didn’t value his life.) the line of Marinette’s temper, Adrien surrendered, hands thrown up and mouth twitching in its effort not to laugh. “Alright, alright. This isn’t the end of the world. We just need to extend out parameters a bit, you know? Make some concessions.”

“What kind of concession we talking here?” she asked, her tone fraught with weariness.

“Well… we can start by upping our budget,” Adrien posed delicately, already knowing Marinette’s stance on the matter.  She’d told him from the very beginning of this endeavor that every fee they encountered would be split fifty/fifty between them. The rent, the utilities- each of them would be responsible for pulling their weight financially. She (and these were her words) “wasn’t about to let him blow his trust fund”.

(Adrien could have told her that was damn near impossible- that they could potentially buy Paris’ finest penthouse, fill it with the most expensive furniture, and leave the water running 24/7, and he’d _still_ be flushed – but he understood where she was coming from.)

Marinette worked hard. In addition to her daytime retail job, she also took costume contracts from various local community theaters, ran a booming online business, _and_ _still_ picked up shifts at her parents’ bakery on the weekends. All this while juggling her classes as a university student.

Marinette chewed her lip, visibly tossing numbers around her head.

“Or,” Adrien interjected, not wanting to put any more pressure on his beloved than he had to. “We could maybe look at a wider range of neighborhoods? If you aren’t against having a bit of a longer commute each day, that is.”

Marinette sighed. Tapping a few keys, she clicked out of her open tabs before sinking back into the cushions and pinching at the bridge of her nose. “I think at this point we might have to do both,” she admitted at last. “We’ve exhausted all our options, and unless we want to end up homeless…”

“We are _not_ going to end up homeless,” Adrien lectured, closing his own laptop to grant her what he hoped was a reassuring look. “If all else fails, we stay where we are now. We both have perfectly good houses to live in.”

“You’re miserable at home,” Marinette stated.

“I’m miserable, fed, and clothed.”

“You’re living with Hawkmoth!”

“And he’s living with Chat Noir,” Adrien said with a vague hand motion. “Listen, I can bitch and moan about my life all I want, but at the end of the day I’d much rather stay living with my father than have move us somewhere we’ll be miserable.”

Adrien smiled through his lie. No sense telling Marinette he’d prefer living with her in the grossest, dingiest, most over-priced apartment Paris had to offer than spending another week at Château Agreste. _She_ certainly didn’t deserve that.

“You know what? _No_.”

Marinette moved suddenly, tossing back the rest of her drink like she was a grizzled cowboy downing moonshine rather than a nightgown-clad, 110 pound woman with a mug of cocoa, and in an instant her fingers had resumed their frantic dance across her keyboard.

“I’m finding you somewhere to live,” she said, voice filled to the brim with conviction and expression drenched with Ladybug determination. “I’m finding _us_ somewhere to live. And it’s going to be the bestest warmest _homiest_ goddamn place in all of Paris.”

Her eyes dashed up, boring into his own, and it was in that moment Adrien realized it was entirely possible to be terrified, aroused, and oddly comforted all at once.

(Was having someone genuinely care for your emotional well-being a kink?)

“We’re going to be domestic as shit,” Marinette whispered, demeanor bordering on the _un-hinged._ “Even if it kills us.”


	4. Adrien and Marinette Encounter a Wall

Marinette.

Hated.

_House hunting._

Well technically, Marinette hated apartment hunting. She hated townhome hunting. She hated duplex and brownstone and whatever the hell a “dual entry, post-modernist loft” was hunting from the very _depths_ of her now-cold heart.

They’d been at it for nearly a month.

The first week had been the most pleasant, the excitement of the unknown making the whole thing feel like an adventure rather than a chore. She and Adrien had set out on their hunt bright and early each morning, coffee in hand, phones chock full of possible listings, and giggling amongst themselves at the sheer _adultness_ of it all. They’d gone to showing after showing, asking all the questions one should ask when looking in to a possible new home and generally being the ideal buyers, but in the end had turned up empty handed.

Which was fine! These things took time after all!

Week two had progressed much like the first, even if their schedules sometimes made it difficult to meet up during normal showing hours. Marinette, like Adrien, had been under the assumption their search would be quick, and had only requested a week’s leave of work to get her affairs in order. Turns out, Ladybug luck didn’t extend to the housing market, and balancing school and shifts and shoots and showings (not to _mention_ the ever present akuma attacks) proved difficult to stay the least.

The fun was over. The luster of adulthood was fading.

And now, at the tail end of week three, Marinette was certain she never wanted to look at another real estate site in her life. Wherever they ended up moving to is where she’d just have to spend the entire rest of her existence, because there was _no way_ she was _ever_ doing this again.

Adrien’s ever-chipper demeanor (despite how aggravating as it was at times) was probably the only thing keeping her sane.

No matter what was thrown at them, be it surprise termites, hidden landlord fees, or any number of unspeakable atrocities they’d come to face in their search, his enthusiasm never flagged. Each time another of their options were dashed, he was quick with a smile and three more listings to check out, and _boy_ was Marinette grateful at least one of them wasn’t on the verge of a meltdown.

(She’d meant it when she’d said she couldn’t handle stress, and her facial cleanser wasn’t cheap.)

They were running out of options.

And sure, maybe they _were_ being a bit picky. They were two students, moving out for the first time, so maybe it wasn’t their place to quibble… but there was always just _something_ off with each place they looked at.

This one had two bedrooms but no washer/dryer hookups or laundromats nearby.

This one had new hardwood but shared a bathroom with the unit across the hall.

This one was perfect! It had everything on their checklist!

… except windows that opened.

(Needless to say, Ladybug and Chat Noir couldn’t very well be seen taking the elevator.)

It. Was. Frustrating.

It was always too cheap or too expensive. Too nice or not nice enough. It was cramped, smelly, gaudy, not available yet, _no longer_ available _,_ far from his school, far from her work, drafty, infested, loud-

 

Until it wasn’t.

 

Rue de la Chaise was situated in the heart of Paris; A tiny, softly thrumming capillary that fed into the very pulse of the city itself. It was an unassuming area- not as attractive to tourists as the other, more monument-filled places to visit – but the boutiques and restaurants dispersed amongst the residences still brought in their fair share of foot traffic. Being located on their regular patrol circuit, Ladybug and Chat Noir were familiar with the territory, but Marinette found the place took on a different feel when viewed from a sunny, street level perspective.

“This it?” Adrien asked, nodding to a building much like the other’s they come across in their search- all white stone and balconied windows and slate blue tile roof.

(Marinette has some serious words for whomever had decided every single structure in Paris needed to look the same.)

“Seems like it,” she replied, digging her hands out of her coat pockets and putting on her Happy Househunter™ smile.

Her and Adrien’s realtor (an eccentric but highly recommended man they had caved and hired a few days prior) waved from the stoop of the complex, immediately launching into his spiel as he ushered them through the entrance. “Well I really think this one could be a winner for you both! It’s a two bedroom, one bath…”

Marinette only half-listened, the majority of her attention devoted to examining her surroundings.

The entry they strode through was clean and well lit, which already put this place above half of the others she and Adrien had been shown before. The elevator the trio stepped into was yet another perk, but Marinette knew from experience not to get her hopes up until she actually saw the apartment itself.

They got off on the fourth floor, hooking an immediate right as the realtor prattled on. “It’s got solid hardwood, updated lighting fixtures, and…”

Making his was down to the very end of the corridor, the man fished out a second key, slipping it onto the lock before swinging open the white paneled door.

“…it’s comfortably within your budget!”

Humming her approval, Marinette stepped though the threshold, and was immediately (surprisingly) assaulted by an undeniable sense of _space._

It wasn’t that the apartment was _large_ per say, they’d certainly been shown larger, but something about the floorplan just imparted a feeling of openness. To the right of the entry lie a short hallway, containing three identical doors in the same finish as the one she’d just entered through. To the left, a living room, which spilled right into the kitchen via a wide archway. Warm, neutral grey walls bled into dark wood floors, and quick scan of the main living area showed it to be empty besides the grated mantle and the dust sheets hanging over what must have been the windows.

With an open layout, crown molding, and a not-disgusting fireplace, Marinette could honestly say the interior was much nicer than many other’s she and Adrien had seen…

Which immediately set her on edge.

“I don’t get it,” Marinette said, learned skepticism mixing with her natural well of optimism to create an unbalancing concoction of emotions somewhere behind her navel. She spun slow circles in the middle of the apartment, expression befuddled. “How is it this place is still on the market after _a month?”_

Here the realtor’s grin faltered, Marinette’s falling right alongside it

“Well about that…”.

 _‘Here we go,’_ she thought grimly, bracing herself for the inevitable dealbreaker. ‘ _What is it this time? Is this place a crime scene? Infested with plague-like mega roaches? Just fuckin lay it on me bub.’_

“The windows are beautiful,” the realtor began, walking over to where thick, woolen blankets covered the room’s main light source, “original to the building…”

He tugged at the sun-bleached material.

“…but the view leaves something to be desired.”

A wall.

There, just a scant two yards or so from the big (and yes, they were beautiful) windows, was a wall.

Towering, intrusive, and more than a bit unsightly, it was easy to see why it would scare potential buyers away, but Marinette’s eyebrows shot up more out of shock than anything.

“The building is recent,” their realtor explained with a sigh, two fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose in a practiced fashion. “Developers are flocking to this neighborhood like flies to molasses, and _somehow_ they managed to convince city zoning that building a new apartment complex right next to an existing lot with windows was a perfectly fine idea. The other tenants nearly rioted, I heard.”

Marinette crossed the living room, Adrien hot on her heels, and craned her neck to examine what she had instantaneously dubbed The Wall™.

If she got right up on the glass and peered upwards, she could _just_ make out the top of the adjacent building, whereas if she dipped her head _down_ , she caught a glimpse of the narrow corridor below, deserted save a few dumpsters and drain pipes. Pulling back, her finger traced along the stark white frames of the window, and that’s when she noticed something else.

The windows had latches.

Latches attached to very large, very _superhero-sized_ panes.

Latches attached to very large, very superhero-sized panes, that _overlooked a hidden alleyway._

She almost squealed.

At the sound of Adrien’s snort, Marinette realized she’d unconsciously begun her “excited butt wiggle”, and was quick to arrange her face into a mask of aloofness.

(Realtors, like landlords, could smell excitement, and delighted in sapping that warmth for their own nefarious purposes.)

“Odd layout, but not a deal breaker,” she said airily, ignoring the way Adrien nudged her like a kid on Christmas and stomping down her own barely-contained excitement. “Can you show us the rest?”

“Of course,” the realtor said with a sigh of relief, probably just as burned out on this house hunt as they were, “Right this way.”

The vibrating pair dutifully walked the remainder of the apartment, but the rest of the tour felt more like a formality. The two bedrooms (one slightly larger than the other) and single bathroom at the end of the hall were all clean and well-maintained. The kitchen appliances, if a bit outdated, were in similar condition. The price was right, the location couldn’t be better…

One shared glance between Adrien and Marinette was enough to silently cement their decision.

They were home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up building floorplan in the sims 4 just for my own reference. Ill probably upload it in a later chapter!


	5. Adrien Proposes (Again)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this came to me on the middle of the night last night  
> (un-beta'd as per usual)

Adrien sat up straight in his chair, affecting the sort of “effortlessly composed” posture he’d come to perfect over his years of being a model/aristocrat.

In his younger days, he’d never understood why his father was so picky over the angle of his spine or the exact lilt of mouth. Surely _no one_ had the desire nor the time to judge his entire worth as a person based off such minute characteristics.

The woman that sat before him, regarding her two perspective renters like they had personally shaved her prized Persian bald, certainly proved that assumption wrong.

After completing their tour of the apartment on Rue de la Chaise and judging it to be a perfect fit, Adrien and Marinette had decided to close the deal as soon as they possibly could. Their combined luck was a notoriously fluctuating force, probably due in no small part to the kwamis they kept on them at all times, and there was no telling when their fortune would turn, so they’d asked their realtor when the earliest opportunity for them to sign the application was.

The good news: Maude Laurent, reigning landlady of nearly forty years, was seeing applicants this very afternoon!

The bad news: Maude Laurent, reigning landlady of nearly forty years, was the arguably the primest, pickiest, most _judgmental_ woman in France.

(Perhaps the world.)

Within three minutes of the pair entering the “leasing office” (aka the spotless front room of the owner's apartment on the fifth floor) Mlle. Laurent had already remarked on Adrien’s “poor handshake”, chastised Marinette for her inability to sit still, and nearly flayed the both of them alive for not immediately removing their shoes as they strode across her entryway. Once she’d been sure they weren’t about to ruin her pristine carpets, the old crone had gestured for them to take a seat on the couch, her wrinkle-lined mouth pulled into a taut line and her eyes pinched in a way that said “I’ll be steam cleaning the second you leave.”

She paged through Adrien and Marinette’s document file with disinterest, seeming not the least bit impressed their gleaming credit and exorbitant combined income. Her fingers, gnarled with arthritis but immaculately manicured, breezed past their financial documents, paging forward till she reached their photocopied id’s. The woman paused, put on the bifocals strung around her neck, then glared inscrutably down at the page.

A looooooong stretch of silence passed, so long that Adrien and Marinette began to wordlessly argue over who would be the one to break it.

 _“You’re the older one,”_   her blue eyes said, Marinette subtly inclining her head to where Mlle. Laurent continued to burn a hole through their manilla folder, _“You deal with this.”_

 _“That means nothing,”_ Adrien’s expression shot back, his polite smile wavering from overuse. _“I still don’t know how to file taxes. You deal with this.”_

_“You’re the man.”_

_“You’re Ladybug.”_

_“You’re Chat Noir!”_

_“Which means I defer to you.”_

_…_

Marinette deflated, heaving a silent groan. Adrien mentally pumped his fist.

“Do we…” Marinette cleared her throat, adjusting her posture and making sure to enunciate. “Do we have all necessary documents? Because we can get copies of-“

“You two are un-married?” Maude interjected, glancing up with an expression dripping with distaste. Her tiny glasses sat perched on the tip of her nose, somehow heightening the look of judgement she bore down on them with until Adrien squirmed under the sensation of his life being an utter sham.

Twenty years old and no spouse? What a pathetic and shameful existence he led!

“Well n-no,” Marinette stammered, having to physically stop her knee from bouncing when two bird-like eyes narrowed disdainfully on the tick. “We’re just-“

“Looking for some quick kip to have pre-marital sex in no doubt.” Mlle. Laurent snapped their file shut, ignoring the synchronized fits of coughing her accusation garnered. “No. I won’t have my establishment turned into a cesspool of sin.”

She rose, gesturing that they do the same, and Adrien’s growing disappointment tripled when he caught sight of Marinette’s downright _heartbroken_ expression.

“Please,” she begged, panic evident in the way she gripped the arm of the couch. “This is the only place we’ve been able to find that’s in our budget. It’s been on the market for so long... surely you can make an exception just this once?”

Maude clucked her tongue. “I’m sorry to have to deny you, especially with an application as… decent as yours, but I simply cannot rent to two unwed people of the opposite gender. What kind of message would that send to the children living in this building?”

Her tone made it apparent her decision was final.

Beside him, Marinette looked to be in utter turmoil, no doubt _dreading_   having to go back on the househunting market after finding the place of her dreams. She stood jerkily, shuffling towards the door, and in that moment Adrien would have done _anything_ to prevent the frustrated tears he saw welling in his beloved Lady’s eyes.

Including dropping to a knee.

Mlle. Laurent’s brow shot up the exact moment Marinette’s did, both women looking on in shock as Adrien anxiously worked his Miraculous off his finger.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he intoned, feeling as though his soul had left his body and transported to one of his sappiest daydreams. “After six long years of being in a passionate-“

An affronted cluck.

“-but totally _chaste_ relationship with you, I’ve decided I cannot live another second without us consecrating our love before the eyes of God!”

Adrien’s heart hammered as he offered his ring up to a shell-shocked Marinette, the tightness in his chest due only in small part to the fear his plan wouldn’t work.

If he tuned out his surroundings, narrowing his world down to flush across Marinette’s cheeks and the shaking of her fingers as she took his outstretched hand, he could almost believe this real. He could almost believe her tears were borne of happiness, _joy_ for their future together, rather than frustration at their situation. He could see her running into his arms with squeals of _“Yes, yes, of course!”,_ showering his face in kisses like it was a given that she should agree.

Like it was a given that she should love him.

“Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Adrien asked, the words indescribably bittersweet as they slipped off his tongue.

“I-I… yes,” Marinette replied once she’d found her voice, the delight in her eyes a little too _convincing_ for his sanity to bear. “Yes of course I’ll be your wife.”

Despite putting all his energy towards the single task of Chilling™, Adrien couldn’t stop his heart from bursting at the sight of his hand sliding the too-big ring onto Marinette’s fourth finger. He stood on jittery legs, pulling her into the same hug they’d shared countless times before, but somehow the embrace seemed especially poignant this time around.

Maybe it was the lingering butterflies of his fake proposal. Or maybe it was the way Marinette clung just a _fraction_ tighter than usual.

(It certainly wasn’t the delicate cough that emanated from behind them.)

“That was… surely _something_ , Mr. Agreste.” Mlle. Laurent flashed the “happy couple” what must have been a smile, though with the way her brows drew together at the sight of them still holding one another it was hard to tell. “I guess congratulations are in order.”

Adrien and Marinette murmured their thanks, neither of them retracting the arm they had wrapped around the other’s waist. Their faces were equal parts flushed and expectant, twin gazes locked hopefully on the still very confused-looking landlady.

A moment passed, and she sighed.

“When were you hoping to move in again?”

 

* * *

 

 

Marinette signed the lease on her first apartment with foreign weight on her left ring finger… and an all-too-familiar weight in her chest.

Her fiancé sighed right below.


	6. Tom and Sabine are never getting grandkids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should have just probably lumped this chapter in with the next one but im craving a bit of validation right now lmao  
> enjoy!

“…Oh and the _windows_ , Papa! The windows are breathtaking! Big and bright-“

“With sturdy locks!” Adrien interjected from the kitchen, elbow-deep in soap suds as Sabine dried beside him. “Don’t forget the sturdy locks!”

“See,” Marinette said, tearing her eyes from the tv long enough to roll them at her father, “Perfectly safe.”

Tom Dupain had a lot of faith in his daughter.

He trusted her judgement without fail, enough to support her in anything she’s put her mind to over the years. He’d bought her kneepads when all she’d wanted to do was learn aikido. He (as well as his wife) had taken up amateur modeling when she’d made the decisions to open her own online store. He’d been Marinette’s doctor/cheerleader/therapist/ _you name it,_ and now it was time for him to be her voice of reason.

Because at nineteen years old his baby bird was fleeing the nest, and he wasn’t about to let her go flying into the adult world blind.

(Marinette could roll her eyes over his so-called “doting” all she wanted, but that wouldn’t stop him from making sure she wasn’t rushing into something she’d end up regretting.)

“What about the kitchen?” Tom grilled, expertly multi-tasking his parenting _and_ video game ~~losing~~ playing. “Decent shape?”

“It’s clean. Workable.” Marinette nuzzled deeper into his side, leaning forward a bit and sticking her tongue out the way she always did when she was trying to focus. “The appliances looked to be in pretty good shape and the realtor said the sink hardware was brand new.”

“And the bathroom?” Sabine questioned from the kitchen, gently yanking Adrien back by the band of his apron when he tried to open the oven door.

“Well… it sure was a bathroom,” Marinette answered vaguely, unsure what her mother wanted to hear.

Parents. Always asking questions for one reason or another.

“I mean,” Sabine amended, “what are the drains like? Your father and I’s first apartment had _horrible_ plumbing. Did you check to make sure the toilets worked?”

Tom cursed under his breath, knuckles white around the controller as his daughter knocked his fighter off the stage for the fourth time in a row. Marinette coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “git gud”.

“If they don’t work we’ll just get them fixed,” she called over her shoulder, eyes trained on the screen and fingers furiously mashing. “Maintenance is included in the rent.”

Her mother gave a pleased hum. “That’s great. You’ll need to- _Adrien!_ ”

Marinette distantly heard the tell-tale sound of the oven door slamming shut, but she was too engrossed in thoroughly _smoking_ her father’s virtual ass to investigate.

“What did I tell you before? Do I need to childproof this kitchen like I did when Marinette was a baby? If you touch that oven one more time so help me…”

“PLAYER ONE WINS!”

Marinette dusted a bit of imaginary dust from her shoulder, grinning as her father pouted beside her.

It was nice to see some things never change.

Three more interrogations, two more victories, and one somewhat poorly-risen (gee, she wondered who’s fault _that_ was) soufflé later, Marinette rose from the couch, trailing her father to the kitchen so they could take their turn at dishes duty.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Tom asked, knocking his hip against Marinette’s much smaller frame. She smiled, one hand pulling out a towel while the other accepted the dripping plate he passed her way.

“I know.”

“Moving out is one of life’s greatest adventures, and I’m so glad you’ll be able to do it with-“

Words faded into silence and Marinette looked up. Puzzled, she tried to decipher father’s sudden blank expression, dread then pooling in her gut as she followed his eyes down to where they fixed upon her soapy hands.

“Mari-bun… why are you wearing Adrien’s ring?”

 

* * *

 

 

It took a solid three minutes to convince Tom to release Adrien from his bear hug, five more to coax a happily-sniffling Sabine away from where she’d begun calling every one of her living relatives to share the news, then ten for their daughter and no-so-future-son-in-law to explain the situation in full. 

Sitting through a lecture on lying was another five minutes down the drain, followed by rapid lightning round of dishes then a record-breaking dash out the door.

“Thanks for dinner!” Adrien called up the stairwell, hot on Marinette’s heels as they launched their escape from that  _ train wreck _ of a conversation. 

“Thanks for killing my dream of blonde grandchildren!” Mlle. Dupain-Cheng chirped in reply, earning her an elbow from her husband, a wail from her daughter, and a coughing-sputter from Adrien.

(Listen, it had been years- well, okay,  _ months _ since Adrien had envisioned what his and Marinette’s kids might look like. He didn’t need to be reminded of the fact they would be the most precious things on two legs.)

The atmosphere was unsurprisingly bitter cold as the pair stepped through the bakery side door. It stung Adrien’s nostrils when he drew in a breath of fresh air, forcing a shiver down his spine, and Marinette moved on instinct to adjust the scarf around his neck. Confident he was well-bundled, her hand dropped to his clavicle, fixing his collar in a way that landed solidly on the _heart-wrenching_ end of the familiarity scale. Almost a bit  _ too _ domestic for his romantic soul to take. 

Adrien stared down to where they met, telling himself it was to admire the way his miraculous looked in the low-light, rather than how right her hand looked brushing gently against his chest. Marinette followed his eyes and huffed.

“I guess I should probably give this back to you,” she said, working the sterling ring off her finger before plopping it down in his palm. “I don’t think I’d look too good in a black leather catsuit anyways.”

_ Thump. _

The mental image of Marinette as Chat Noir sunk nock-deep in his chest, and suddenly Adrien wanted nothing more than to hand his most precious possession right back to her.

“Spots suit you,” he said mildly, because it was either that or  _ salivate. _

“Huh,” Marinette hummed, wiggling her hand. “My finger feels strangely light now. I think I got used to wearing your ring.”

_ Twang. _

The second arrow (Marinette in wedding dress, slender finger adorned with the diamond symbol of his love for her) lodged even deeper, and Adrien nearly hunched over at the sudden remembrance of just how incomprehensibly smitten he was with this women. 

“I’ll buy you a better one,” he murmured, still lost in that fantasy vision. Marinette glanced up at him, bewildered. “F-for appearances, of course!” Adrien rushed to tack on. He scrubbed at the back of his neck, chagrined. “In case you run into Maude in the hallways.”

“That’s… super smart of you,” Marinette replied, her breath fogging in the night.

If she noticed the way he still fixated on her hand, frowning at the sudden nakedness of it, she didn’t comment, merely popping a kiss to both his cheeks and sending him on his merry way.

 


End file.
